USUK 100 Theme Challenge!
by Jay1892
Summary: My attempt at the 100 theme challenge all revolving around the Hetalia pairing USUK!
1. Theme 001 Introduction

Sand stark and blanch against the harsh morning sun. Waters crystal blue with tufts of white foam as it bubbles and blurbs over the grainy surface of the shore. Rise and fall, rise and fall. The click of heels on the hard wood of the deck as the scene zooms in. Revise Rebirth. A world anew just ripe and ready for the concurring. Endless flats of grassy empty land stretching as far as his eyes could see. What grace, what majestic magnificence only (nearly) comparing the beauty of the English country side.

Amazing… who knew this much land was lying just on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean? Here it was defenseless and rich in resources that he could put to great use back home. Yes… this would all be his claimed in the name of the glorious name of King George and the British Empire. Glory be thy name brave knight your king shall praise thee well.

The sand is soft and shifty beneath his feet as he paces up the sandy shore to the solid ground that lay just yonder. "This is a fine hunk of land, it will fetch us a hefty sum." He claims- a proud triumphant smile glowing on his thin pale face. The wind caressed his golden hair, the salty sea air filled his nose and lungs with a pleasant burn, the sun sparkled in his stunning green eyes as he once again admired his new found kingdom.

Only one question though remained in the conquerors mind. Were there any people who inhabited this vast land? Not that he cared or anything considering inhabited or not this land was now his- no questions asked. His eyes scanned the horizon in search of the familiar looming figures of villages, homes, or even people for that matter. Still no matter how hard he strained or squinted his eyes the only thing his line of sight came in contact was were the same ongoing grassy plains or the occasional tall leafy tree. Maybe this land truly was empty…?

His assumption however proved to be false when his ears picked up at the sound of small footsteps shuffling through the dry grass lining the shore. His muscles instinctively tensed under the material of his clothes; years of fierce battles and war fare conditioning his body in such a way. What was it, a wild animal, a bird, or maybe just the sea gales blowing across the sand? The blonde man took a few steps forward; taking caution and care with him as he advanced. He was poised and ready; expertly trained hand hovering over the pistol bumping around in the holster against his slender hips. He motions to his companion to remain silent as he draws only mere centimeters from the clump of tall grass. Ever so quietly he approached. A few more steps, some careful maneuvering and-!

The blonde man swiped away the grass clump; pulling his pistol out of its holster- its perfectly polished surface gleaming in the sunlight as it flew- and holding it out at the object of his discovery. He had expected to see a squirrel or some other sort of woodland creature, not what he actually did stumble across.

There was a small squeak of terror and suddenly he found his emerald eyed gaze becoming entwined with a gaze the same bright, brilliant blue as the skies the soared endlessly over head. It was a boy; a very young boy that couldn't be over the age of three. His face was round and chubby with youth; cheeks brushed in a rosy red hue. His hair was deep ashen blonde with small tufts sticking out in every which direction; a single rebellious strand particularly sticking out among the rest. He was dressed in tattered and dirt ridden garments with a messy poorly tied bow around his neck.

The boy gazed up at him with terror glimmering in his blue eyes but behind the fear laid wonder and curiosity for the man who towered above him. "It's just a child…" The blonde man proclaimed as he promptly drew the pistol away and placed it back in the safety of the holster. He kneeled down so he was closer to the boy's height lest he frighten the poor dear even more. "Do not worry lad, I am not here to harm you." He boy still looked confused as if he didn't understand what it was the man was saying. Maybe he did not understand English. So the man tried again this time in French (His most hated language, but still he had to try) and the boy gave him the same confused look. He tried again in German, and again in Dutch, and again in Spanish, but every language he rattled the same sentence off in only gave him the same results. The poor boy was illiterate and uneducated. What was he supposed to do now…?

With no other options the man merely tried all that he could. Signaling to the boy that he was harmless with only mere hand motions and facial expression. The man reached out one hand leaving his palm open and up towards the sky. He let a warm tender smile spread up his lips and reach his green eyes filling them with as much reassurance as he could muster.

The terror in the boy's eyes began to fade away and the wondrous gleam the sparkled within them became more and more prominent until the youngling's eyes were positively radiating with it. Something inside the man stirred- something he had never before felt. He suddenly felt compelled and consumed by the boy's sky blue gaze and began developing the undying urge to protect him. To protect, and love, and nurture, and teach as if he was his kin. Like… like a brother. And as that little boy with the curious azure eyes reached out with small chubby fingers and took the man's hand without any hint of remorse it was decided. This boy was to be Arthur's younger brother and there would be no one that would prevent that.

**Alright my first shot at the 100 theme challenge! Yay! I of course wanted to do the introduction theme first and I know it's short, but most of these probably won't be more that 1 or 2 pages long and they shall all be USUK themed (since the pairing currently owns my soul)…. Well in any case comments are greatly appreciated. I'd really love to know how I'm doing so far Thanks lovies! **


	2. Theme 031 Flowers

If there was ever one thing Alfred and I ever shared it was the love we both seemed to have for those magnificent little blossoms that sprouted forth from the ground with the coming and passing seasons. I can remember several occasions when he would run up to me- shouting my name and his small hands covered in dirt- with a flower cradled ever so gently in his curled fingers. "What's this one Arthur? What's this one called?" He shouted excitedly; his sky blue eyes glittering with his boundless amounts of excitement. I would smile softly and ruffle his ever tousled locks of dark blonde hair as I kneeled down to inspect his findings. We two would then return home where I would help him press the flower into a book and scrawl down on its page its name and meaning.

I always cherished those moments. I took them and held onto them and kept them close to my heart and it was a good thing I did because those wonderful carefree days were nothing, but a vain dream that was soon to come to an end.

It had been years since Alfred had been the adorable cubby faced child I had raised every so carefully. He was near full grown and quickly exceeding me in height. His round face was becoming more rigid and defined as he crossed over that delicate line from playful boy in mature adult (Although even now he has yet to actually mature). He came to me one glum rainy morning- a morning I had taken comfort in since it had been a while since I had seen the grey foggy skies of my London- his expression solemn and still. I glanced up at him as I finished scrawling my name at the bottom of a few legal documents, "Alfred," I said as I gazed over him; his tall form standing rigid with his hands folded behind his back. "What is it? I hope it's something important as I am very busy managing this country of yours." Back then I hadn't realized just how cruel I must have sounded to him.

His full lips pressed together and he shifted his weight between his feet, "Well…" he spoke softly almost as if he was afraid to utter another word and that only peaked my interest. I placed my feather quill back in its ink pot and glanced over him.

"Well what, Alfred? I implore you to get on it with it so that I may finish with these financial reports. These tax papers aren't going to fill out and sign themselves you know."

A small jolt seemed to course through his body and his stance stiffened; his blue eyes clouded and down cast to the ground. "Well… you won't have to worry about managing this country any more…" He finally spoke.

I glanced at him, my brows arching in a bit of confusion. Why wouldn't I have to worry about managing his country? Had he finally decided to grow up and except his responsibilities? But alas my assumption was wrong and there had never been a time where I more so wished I was right for once. "What do you mean Alfred?" I inquired.

He didn't say. He remained perfectly silent as he crossed the room from the door and to where I sat at my desk. I just continued to stare at him as my confusion grew until he finally brought his hand around to his front side and held something out in the palms of his hands for me.

It was a flower. A single flower, cut off short from its bush with its petals ruffled from Alfred's grasp. I felt my breath hitch in the back of my throat. I knew this flower and I understood its meaning and I knew full well Alfred did as well, but the one question still remained of why was he giving me this? "Alfred…" My voice came out quietly. "What is the meaning of this…?"

He merely looked at me, his expression stern and steady, but his eyes- as always- betrayed him. Sadness pooled like water in their endless blue depths. "I know you know what it means…" Was all Alfred said as he placed the flower on my desk. With that statement he turned and began to walk away from me so that my mind may process what exactly it was he was purposing. I picked the flower up and twirled it by the stem in my fingers as I inspected it.

A striped carnation was what lay before me. Its daring crimson red petals only hindered by streaks of innocent white. If my mental dictionary had not failed me I was positive that the meaning of a striped carnation was…. I swallowed thickly as turned the flower over in my hands once again. The meaning of a striped carnation was… No. A refusal. A symbol of goodbye and I no longer wish to be with you. What was this for? Why was he saying goodbye? He didn't… he didn't want me gone… did he? I felt my hands tremble and my heart squeeze tightly in my chest. I suddenly forgot how to breathe and I felt like the walls of my spacious office were suddenly all closing in on me. As I sat there trembling and desperately trying to process Alfred's curious motion the flower fell from my hands and landed to the desk with a light shuffle.

"I have arranged for you to return to England tomorrow morning. From this day forward I am no longer your colony or you brother. I am going to fight for my independence and there is nothing you can do to stop me." And on that last and final note he left the room completely and pulled my office door shut behind him.

The world suddenly seemed so dark and dreary like the sun had suddenly sank into oblivion, never to rise and brighten my world again. I couldn't breathe… I couldn't think… all I could do was sit there and stare at the flower on my desk as Alfred's last words echoed in my ears like a judge's sentence to be hung at the gallows. What was I to do… I had nearly dedicated all my life to that boy- feeding him, clothing him, teaching him- I had raised that boy from nothing and this was the thanks he gave me in return? I felt so betrayed, so violated, so lost and alone and oh so very cynical.

The sadness took a hold of me and suddenly my lost breath came crashing back into my lungs as I buried my face in my hands and wept. My shoulders shook and my hands trembled while my eyes stung and my breath came in short desperate gasps.

After all I had done and this is what I got…. I hate Alfred at that moment. I hated him to the core and yet at the same time I missed him and longed for him. But at that time my rationality was nowhere in sight as I began to curse him and wish for his failure. I hated him, I despised him, and I loathed him. How dare he make me cry in such a horrible manner… but… little did I know that just on the other side of the door he stood leaning against the back of the door as he too choked back sobs and did his best to step forward while I wallowed in the past.

More years had passed and by this point in time I was starting to worry that the war was starting to force lines to crease into my brow. Eight years I had spent nearly all my nights lying awake and wondering why life had to be this way before I curled back up and cried to myself before exhaustion finally took its hold and took me under into sleep. I swear to whatever celestial being live above that that bloody war had aged me far beyond my years and that only fueled my anger.

When we had finally settled the fighting and the bloodshed Alfred and his group of ungrateful revolutionists along with my king and myself were called away to the capital of my most hated country to sign a peace agreement. I always hated Paris. I still hate Paris, but never before had I ever hated it as much as I had that day. My king instructed me to remain calm and keep my comment and qualms to myself as there was no way to get America back now. He said my own relationships shouldn't get in the way with business. And so I held my tongue though out the entire meeting though my mouth was filled the bitter taste of all the words I wished to say to Alfred as he sat calmly across the room from me.

I wanted to go over there. Oh I wanted to go over there alright and smack the seven shades of shit out of him. I wanted to shout and scream and kick and fight until all my bottled up frustrations had exploded up like a shaken bottle of champagne. I wanted to cry. I wanted to curl up into a ball and just sink through the floor boards- disappear from this world until there was nothing left to me just so I wouldn't have to feel the pain of abandonment any longer.

I felt relieved when the meeting drew to a close and we all retreated to our separate rooms in the Hotel D'York. I collapsed onto my bed and stared up at my ceiling with stinging eyes for what may have minutes or what may have been hours. I was completely lost in space. My mind nothing, but a blank slate with no desire to be written on. I wanted to forget… forget everything. Forget the day I found that precious chubby cheeked boy running around on the prairies. Forget the way he smiled and squealed with delight every time I came to visit. Forget the way his smile lit up his eyes…. Forget every flower we had ever found together…. And yet at the same time… I wanted to hold onto those memories and hold them close to my heart so they would never be let go.

Only when there was a knock on my door did I break free of my trance. Thinking it was one of my officials I willed myself to roll off of my bed and answer the call. The metal felt cool around my hand as I twisted the knob and swung the door to reveal… nothing? There was no one there; just an empty hallway that stretched out before me. Had imagined it? Was I finally flying off my rocker after eight years of sleepless nights?

No I couldn't be crazy for when my gaze traveled downward there on my doorstep sat a small delicate pastel pink and white flower. I picked up the blossom and turned it over in my hands knowing exactly what is was, what it meant and who it was from. In my hands I held a steam of tiny sweet pea flowers; their soft scent floating up in the air in filling my nose. Sweet pea… I knew what it meant and somehow it brought the smallest ghost of a smile to my lips as I recalled exactly what it meant. It meant goodbye… and thanks for the memories.

At that moment I decided that I would keep my memories of the time I had spent raising Alfred. I _would_ hold them and keep them close to my heart. I didn't want to forget them when I truly thought about it. I would keep those memories, but sometimes I think that my choice to not cast them out made the sting of abandonment even worse.

In 1814- during the war of 1812- in my ever present bitterness towards Alfred and his countries pestering presence my troops and I set fire to Washington. Afterwards I received a bouquet of withered marigolds from an unknown sender even thought I knew full well who they were from. The marigolds representing cruelty while their withered state represented rejection and disappointment. I burned them along with the ashen remains of Washington.

1861 to 1865 I remained safely overseas as Alfred internally suffered from a civil war. I suppose I felt a hint of remorse for the poor lad (Civil war was no easy matter to deal with). But my tongue still tasted as sour as vinegar and as soon a France acted to help Alfred I had to make my move as well. In retaliation my country moved to help aid the confederacy since France seemed to be aiding the union. Shortly after the idea was purposed I received another bouquet from an unknown sender (He really had to stop being so obvious…). This time it was a bundle of withered Dahlias. The withered state once again representing disappointment and rejection while the dahlias told me of betrayal. Promptly there after my country deemed the confederacy an unworthy cause and we withdrew our proposal before we even provided them the smallest bit of aid.

It wasn't until World War one when I received another bouquet. No card attached as per usual. The flowers were not withered (Thankfully since withered flowers only made me feel sadness for the loss of their beauty) this time. These flowers were Begonias which I knew full well were a warning and a symbol to be careful. When I was them I couldn't help, but let out a dry bark of laughter. The bleeding git was telling me to be careful in this war, now was he? As if he cared for my well being. What a laugh that was. If had been so concerned for my safety he would have joined the war when it broke out instead of waiting until it was his people who were attacked to actually put his pieces into play…. Still… my heartfelt slightly warmed at the motion.

It was World War two when I received the next bunch. I remember I had been sent to the hospital as I suffered physically from the attacks of the London Blitz. It was then when the nurse clad in her whitecap and apron had put them in a vase next to my bed; announcing they were from an unknown sender. It was a large flashy thing filled with white poppies and purple hyacinths; their extremely fragrant scent making me nauseas in my ill and weakened state.

I gazed over at them with half mast eyes as I struggled to recall what they meant. Right… white poppies meant offerings in condolences- undoubtedly for the hundreds of people I had lost to the bombings. Purple hyacinths… those meant I am sorry, please forgive me. Forgive him? He could offer me all the sympathy and condolences in the world, but it would not bring my people back from the dead now would it? Forgive him he says, to that I just turned my head and frowned. I was forced to practically beg him for aid once France- the wino-bastard- surrendered to Germany promptly after the war had begun. Alfred merely turned his back along with his country's and left me all alone to fend against the German invasion myself.

"There's a card that came with it," The nurse said as she arranged the flowers just so. "It doesn't have a name, but maybe you'll recognize the handwriting?" She offered politely as she held out the ward between a slender thumb and forefinger. I wanted to turn my head again, huff, and frown at the card, but that would be rude to do to a lady and as gentleman I wasn't to be rude to womenfolk. I took the card and opened its beige cover so my eyes could scan over the familiar sloppy scrawl of one specific American. There was no introduction or signature to the card only a single sentence hindered its clean stiffened surface.

_I would if I could and you know it._

I folded the card back up and crumpled it within my hands as I balled them into tight fists. I brought them to my eyes and pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes as I tried to fight back the traitor tears that irritated them. He would if he could? If he had the chance to swoop in and save me- to be a real hero- would he really do it or where those quickly scrawled words nothing, but empty promises and well thought out lies? Of that I wasn't sure, but all I knew is that he wasn't there to help me, but oh… how I wished he was.

Time crept by slowly after that. It felt as if the years seemed to drag on as the war came to a close and we slowly moved into a new era of technology, culture, and hardships. Although war did not plague us at that current moment in time there was a totally different ordeal that hindered me and not just me, but Alfred as well.

Shortly after World War Two (After Alfred had finally gotten off his lazy arse and joined the war effort) my prime minister couldn't help, but point out that America and Briton had grown remarkably close during the course of the war. It was around that time when I first heard the term 'Special Relationship' used to describe our bindings. I laughed the first time I heard while inside my heart fluttered and I secretly blushed. How absurd, who in the world came up with such a thing? Just because our countries may have shared a special relationship meant by no means that I was developing feelings for Alfred. No way no how.

After I heard that term I definitely did not start thinking about him. I definitely did not start daydream about what it would be like to be with him. I definitely did not begin to notice how enticing the tan-ness of his skin, the blondeness of his hair, the blue of his eyes, and the boldness of his body was. And I definitely- certainly- did not begin to realize just how much I've missed him over the years we had been apart…. I definitely… definitely… didn't.

It was around that time I received another bouquet. This time it was small with only a few flowers, but they were beautiful none the less. Although I must admit the symbol of the flowers made me blush upon realizing what they meant. Red carnations meant… yearning and I long for you. In what way did he mean…? Did he mean he missed my company? My face? Did he long to hear my voice or did he… long for something else? I nearly screamed as I shook my head clear of any unclean thoughts I- definitely did not- have. What in the world was I thinking? I was really letting myself go way too far with this 'Special Relationship' nonsense.

But then I received more flowers.

As the years passed always on my birthday I would receive a bouquet of flowers. Pink camellia, longing for you. Yellow chrysanthemum, slighted love. Primrose, I can't live without you. Blue violet, I'll always be true. Red tulip, believe and accept me. White violet, let's take a chance. Magenta zinnia, lasting affection. Gardenia, secret love. Suddenly my head was spinning with all the flowers. Alfred nor I never mentioned the flowers when together. In our world the flowers were the forbidden subject that we both never dared to bring up.

With the showers of flowers I was bestowed with I slowly, well… found myself falling. I wasn't really sure, but I was almost positive I was falling… truly… madly… deeply. I would never say it aloud and I constantly tried to deny it, but no matter how many time I tried to convince myself I would always somehow end up back at the same conclusion.

I was falling ever so madly in love with Alfred.

What was I to do? I had never before felt this way before. Sure I had felt love for people before, but t had before been this… intense. I thought of Alfred nearly every time we were apart and I secretly admired him every time I was near him. He was so beautiful. The squareness of his jaw, the way his eyes sparkled behind his rectangular glasses, the way his tousled locks of dark blonde hair fell against his forehead. It wasn't only the fact he was beautiful physically, but he also was internally. He was always so happy and genuine. It was almost as if he brought just that much more light into a room as he entered with that signature grin of his.

I loved everything, absolutely everything and I hated myself for it. I raised him, I was his brother for a short amount of time. He was my co-worker, my ally, my frenemy, my rival, a fellow nation all at the same time and it made my head spin. It was frustrating, so very frustrating. And as I sat sitting in my chair one afternoon mulling over what in the queen's name I was supposed to do about my ordeal there was a knock at my door. I grumbled to myself as I hauled myself from the comfort of my favorite chair and shuffled lazily to the door; wishing for whomever was there to go away.

Déjà vu seemed to settle over me as the coolness of the door knob felt soothing to my hand as I swung the door open to reveal my visitor. Alfred. He stood there smiling like an idiot with his hands tucked behind his back in his favorite bomber jacket that he had kept ever so lovingly since the second world war. "Alfred…?" I heard myself say slightly breathlessly.

"Hey Artie…" He said with a sheepish smile as he rocked back on his heels.

I glanced around behind him to make sure there was no one else around him, "What are… w-what are you doing here?" I inquired.

"Oh well I uh… I was just thought I'd pop in for a little visit…" Pop in for a visit? Why would he take a seven hour flight across the Atlantic Ocean just to 'pop in for a in for a little visit?' That was an absurd idea.

"Oh then uh… come in I guess. It seems like you've had a long day…" I offered as I ushered him in and willed my heart to stop pounding. As I invited him in he took extra care in keeping whatever it was behind his back out of my line of sight. What was he trying to hide…? "W-would like coffee o-or something…?" I offered respectfully like any host would. I certainly didn't keep a bag of coffee in my house just for Alfred.

"Nah, that's alright…" He said with a small shake of his head. "A-actually Artie I was uh… I was hoping we could talk a bit…" Talk? He wanted to talk? About what? The suspense was killing me.

"Uh o-of course. We can go sit in the living room a-and-!" I began to turn around, but I was stopped before I even took a step by Alfred's warm hand wrapped around my slender wrist.

I turned around and suddenly found a bundle of small fragrant blossoms shoved in my face. "Arthur, please I'm begging you! Please accept my feelings?" He practically shouted at me in his nervousness and it only forced my cheeks to burst into a splash of crimson. I stammered nervously and stared at him with eyes spread wide. Flowers? What were the flowers? What feelings was I accepting exactly? My eyes crossed slightly as I looked down to inspect the bouquet that had been shoved in my face and my heart skipped a few beats.

Forget-me-not flowers, true love.

I nearly cried. My entire chest just filled with warmth and my heart swelled up so large I was afraid it would crack my ribs. I tried to compose myself, to gather myself up and handle this like a mature adult, but I failed… miserably. Instead of being mature and calm I flung my arms around him and nearly crushed the flower between us. I felt so alive, so happy, never before had I felt this happy. I couldn't control myself and I hated myself for it, but at the same time I couldn't care less.

I happily sobbed into Alfred's neck, just crying 'yes' as I held fast to him. I believe he cried too as he snaked his arms around my waist and held me up against his taller form. I couldn't believe it. It was almost all too much to take in, so much in fact it made my head felt like my head was going to burst, but it was still a good feeling none the less.

I'm still unsure of how long we stayed like that, tangled within each other's embrace, but all I was sure of is when we finally did break apart together we pressed the flowers into the book that I had kept all these years (I never had the heart to throw it out) and carefully scrawled in the flower's name and meaning where they would forever remain safe between the pages of our memories from centuries ago.

**O…m…g… I just wrote this 5 ½ page one shot all in one sitting. My wrists are killing me! But once I started typing I just couldn't stop! I love the whole idea of flowers and symbolism and when I saw flowers as one of the themes for the 100 theme challenge I had to do it. **

**Soooo… yeah… I think it turned out pretty cute. Comments are greatly appreciated lovies! **


	3. Theme 092 All That I Have

1 "Hundred and one fever." Arthur proclaimed as he stared intently at the thermometer clasped between his thumb and forefinger. "Well I can tell you one thing; you're not leaving this bed until that fever of yours is down."

Alfred pursed his lips and puffed out his fever reddened cheeks in a pout. "But Artie, I came all the way across the ocean to spend time with you, not lie in bed and be all sick." Indeed Alfred had traveled all the way across the Atlantic Ocean from his home in New York to his fiancé's home in London, England. Unfortunately though not long after arriving in the foreign city Alfred had started a fuss of coughing and sneezing and before long he had developed a low grade fever to go with it. Upon further inspection of the internet is was revealed that two of America's biggest stock companies were down forcing Alfred's ever present cold-like symptoms to increase in ferocity.

"What happens happens Alfred and there's nothing we can do about it." Arthur explained as he turned away from his sick lover and went to the bathroom to sterilize the now germ ridden thermometer. He soon returned the bedroom- aspirin, a bag of cough drops, and a cool dampened cloth in hand- setting his spoils down on the nightstand before placing the cloth on Alfred's forehead just under his dark blonde bangs. "Just rest for now and your fever should go down soon." Arthur soothed his formed charge as he softly caressed his fever reddened cheek and sat down on the edge of the bed next to him. "Now, is there anything I can get for you?" He inquired politely.

Alfred shook his head against the pillow, "No… I'm not in the mood… I'm just tired…" He sighed as he closed his eyes.

"Then get some sleep, love." Arthur instructed as he reached up and gently pat Alfred's head. He couldn't help, but feel nostalgic at the motion. "This reminds of when you were little; I used to pat your head like this when you fell asleep." The Briton commented.

"I remember. You used to read me stories and stuff too… I used to love it when you did that." Alfred mumbled in his sleepy state.

"You want me to sing you a lullaby?" Arthur questioned with a small laugh. Alfred looked up Arthur expectantly; blue eyes shining under long blonde lashes. "Well... I-If it'll help you sleep... I guess I wouldn't mind."

Alfred opened his eyes, endless blue orbs glowing even though they were only opened to half-mast. Alfred smiled softly, "Kay, you remember my favorite, right?"

Arthur smiled as well, "Of course, how could I forget." Arthur cleared his throat briefly before he began to softly sing the same age old lullaby he used to sing to Alfred when he was nothing more than a small colony. "_I gave my love a cherry that had no stone. I gave my love a chicken that had no bone. I gave my love a story that had no end. I gave my love a baby that had no cryin'._" Alfred always loved the way Arthur sang. How soft and supple his voice sounded with the rise and fall of the notes. It had been something that had always sent the American nation to sleep within only a few minutes of listening and even two centuries later that hadn't changed. "_How can there be a cherry with no stone? How can there be a chicken with no bone? How can there be a story with no end? How can there be a baby with no cryin'?"_

Alfred felt himself slipping into the unconsciousness of sleep and the sound of Arthur's singing was soon fading away into silence. The American's heavy eye lids began to flutter closed and his stuffy breathing evened out as fell further into the realm of sleep. "_A cherry when it's blooming, it has no stone. A chicken in an eggshell, it has no bone. A story that's 'I love you', it has no end. A baby when it's sleeping has no crying'..._" Arthur smiled down at the now peaceful, sleeping form of his lover. The Briton finishes the song with a tender kiss to Alfred's cheek and the removal of the younger nation's glasses. "I can't believe that still works even after all these years…" Arthur muses quietly as he folded up the spectacles and placed them safely on the night stand.

Arthur looked at the peaceful sleeping face of his lover. With his face so slack and relaxed and his glasses removed it was amazing how young Alfred looked. Had it not been for Alfred's now more defined and square cut facial features Arthur would've sworn it was his old colony lying before him. Alfred…. Arthur remembered Alfred when he was only a small boy wandering the prairies all by his lonesome. He had been so small, so cute, his blue eyes were always sparkling with wonder and curiosity like the world was this magnificent place filled with adventure….

Sometimes Arthur missed that. Having someone look up to him and think he was great again even though his empire had long since crumbled away. His empire… now that he thought about it he had his empire when Alfred was still a young lad and that only made the longing for the times during the American's youth even greater. But what happened when that boy grew up…. Arthur shook his head clear. No he wasn't going down that road of painful memories. None of that would ever happen again. Not Ever.

Arthur looked down at his left hand where on his ring finger sat a simple silver band subtly studded with three diamonds. Alfred had purposed to the Briton only a few short weeks ago. This ring was a symbol, a promise that Alfred was dedicated to being with Arthur till the day he died. That ring was a symbol, a promise that Alfred was never going to leave Arthur alone and that gave the Briton comfort…. Still a fear was always present in the deepest, darkest parts of his old mended heart.

Arthur hauled himself off the edge of the bed- cursing his stiff (not) old joints for a moment- before he exited the room with last glance back at his sleeping lover before he softly closed the door behind him. Undoubtedly Alfred would be hungry when he woke again so Arthur decided that it would be a good idea to prepare some nice, hot soup for the American to soothe his sickness stricken throat. Arthur attempted, but by the time he had burned his hands twice, cut himself with a knife once, and spilled the carton of broth he decided to give up. Alfred didn't really like his cooking anyway. He ate it and said that he liked it but the Briton knew full well that it was just his fiancé being nice. Alfred would most likely appreciate something tasty and store bought. Arthur crept upstairs and made sure Alfred was still asleep before he snuck back down the stairs, grabbed his coat, and headed for the local convenience store.

Cooking had always been a thing Arthur enjoyed doing, but it was not something he was very skilled in (or so said everyone else). Still when Alfred was a boy Arthur would cook the lad platefuls of food and the young nation would practically burst open with excitement before shoving his face full of meat stew, shepherd's pie, and fried fish. Alfred used to like his cooking that was until…. What was wrong with Arthur today? No matter how hard he tried not to let it his mind was somehow always wandering back to the memory. That rainy day. The saturated dirt underneath his legs. The cold and distant look in those once beautiful and shining blue eyes…. And there he went again. Arthur was going to have to force himself to stop because a spontaneous bout of crying in the convenience store was not on today's schedule.

By the time had Arthur had retrieved the goods, brought them home, warmed them up in the microwave, and brought them upstairs Alfred was starting to stir from his sleep. As Arthur entered the room with a bowl of piping hot soup Alfred was starting to sit up in bed, gazing over at Arthur with a sleep glazed stare. "Well good morning sleepy head," Arthur spoke, forcing his thoughts from nostalgic to present day with some difficulty. "How're you feeling?"

Alfred grumbled softly, "Mmn… how long have I been asleep…?" He asked groggily.

"You've been out for a good hour and a half," Arthur replied as he put the bowl of soup down on the night side table. The Briton reached a hand over and pressed it to Alfred's cheek, "Hmm, still a bit warm, but not as bad as earlier." He said as he brushed a strand of misplaced hair from Alfred's eyes.

Alfred grumbled again and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow, "That's good…" He said suppressing a yawn; stretching his arms in front of him until his shoulders gave a comfortable crack. "Man, I'm hungry… that soup for me?" Alfred asked as he gazed over at the bowl on the table.

"No it's for the tooth fairy; of course it's for you, git." Arthur shot back.

"Well you never know; it never hurts to ask." Alfred forced a grin to his face as he rolled over and gave a bit of a struggle to sit up against the pillow. Arthur placed a warm hand on Alfred's shoulder and aided his lover to sit up. "You didn't make that soup… did you?" Alfred asks slightly cautiously.

Had Alfred not been feeling ill Arthur would've smacked him upside the head for the rude comment. "No I did not, I went it bought it at the store while you were asleep." Arthur said with a small scowl as he turned to the nightstand and picked up the bowl. Alfred breathed a small sigh of relief. He felt crappy enough as it was, he didn't need food poisoning on top of a cold. "Git, you used to love my cooking when you were a child. You would come running to me every time I came to visit, begging me to cook you something special." Arthur pointed out. Arthur couldn't count the endless amounts of embarrassing stories he had in his mental file cabinet of Alfred when he was young.

Alfred laughed softly, "Yeah, yeah I know I did. But I was still so young and had no idea that there was cooking other than yours." Alfred said, accepting the bowl.

Arthur frowned slightly, "Ungrateful git, you still loved my cooking either way. Sometimes I wish you were young again, at least then you'd be tolerable." Arthur shot back hotly. "Oh, I forgot to bring up a spoon, be back in a tick, love." Arthur noted as he picked himself up from the bed and then strode out of the room to retrieve the proper utensil from downstairs. Alfred watched quietly as his fiancé disappeared around the corner of the door and his footsteps grew softer and softer as he descended upon the stairs.

The American's gaze flittered downwards and he looked at his reflection in the murky, steaming surface of the broth. He looked so young in that reflection. He could tell even if his vision was faded and blurry from the ravishes of astigmatism. There had been several times when Arthur had mentioned to Alfred that he missed the way he was when he was still a colony. In most cases Alfred would just reply with a witty comeback or brush it off, but… was there a reason behind it all? Sometimes Alfred wondered, but usually he kept those thoughts in the deepest parts of his mind.

Alfred rummaged through the silverware drawer in search of a soup spoon (because it had to specifically be a soup spoon and nothing else). He sighed to himself, taking a moment to push any reminiscent feelings or memories that swirled around within him; Alfred, after all, was an adult and had been for two centuries now. Arthur just… missed how things used to be sometimes even if he did find them much more favorable in present day. The present day where a new love could blossom between them into something they could have never had before.

Still Arthur couldn't help, but recall the days when he was looked up to in high respect by the American nation who had then been his brother. It was back then that Arthur had held one-fourth of the world's surface within his grasp while nowadays he nothing to brag about, but events that had long since passed. Ever since Alfred left him Arthur's empire had slowly began to crumble under his feet and eventually he was pulled down in normality where he had no accomplishments left save for some good business transactions and an era of music that swept the world by storm. It was because Alfred left…. Arthur willed the feelings back into their lock box in his heart and headed back up the stairs, spoon successfully in hand.

To the surface once again the thoughts and feelings were raising from the deepest corners of Alfred's mind and the darkest pits of Arthur's heart.

It wasn't long before Alfred heard Arthur's footsteps on the stairs again, this time ascending the flight of wooden boxes. It wasn't long either before the Briton's lithe figure appeared in the doorway, silver spoon in hand. "I got it. How silly of me to have forgotten." Arthur chuckled softly as he crossed the room to Alfred's bedside. "Well c'mon on then; you better start eating before it gets cold." Arthur said as he held the spoon out for the other man to take. The younger nation just sat there as he started down into the bowl with lips pressed together. "Alfred," Arthur attempted to get the American's attention. "Everything alright, love?"

Alfred moved slowly, ignoring the spoon Arthur had offered and instead put the soup bowl back on the nightstand. "Hey Arthur…" He began softly. "Do you… do you really wish I was a kid again or… or is that just an empty phrase…?" Alfred asked cautiously.

Arthur paused upon hearing the question. He took a moment to think it over before clearing his throat and speaking, "I-I well… er… well y-yes and no…" Arthur placed the spoon on the table, daring a glance in Alfred's eyes before turning his gaze downwards again. "Don't get me wrong, it's not something I think about very often but… it was a high point in my life and…" Arthur fidgeted slightly, keeping his gaze ever away from Alfred's. "I just get a little… nostalgic from time to time, that's all…"

The American nation hesitated briefly before responding, "So… you're happy, with the way we are now I mean…?"

"What?" Arthur looks up, eyes spread wide. The Briton bent down and sat on the edge of the bed, taking Alfred's hand within his grasp. "Of course Alfred… I couldn't be happier with the way things are now…" Arthur looked down again, cheeks brushed a light shade of pink. "You're… you're the happiest part of my life since… since I met you. I love you and what we've become, but I can't help, but become reminiscent every once in a while…"

"Good I'm glad," Alfred replied. "I… I really do love you Artie. I always have ever since I met you all those years ago. I love you so much and we're going to be together forever, Arthur. We'll be happy together…"

Arthur smiled down softly at his former charge as he leaned down so he could hug Alfred close. "Of course, Alfred, I feel the same way. I know I love you more than life itself… I always have, just in different ways. I've scarcely been happier than in this time I've been with you, and I… I don't want it to ever end…" Arthur held Alfred tightly, screwing his eyes shut to keep from crying from the feelings that only continued to slowly leak out from their prison.

He was crying? Well Arthur wasn't specifically crying, but Arthur could hear the strain in his partner's voice as they embraced. "Hey Artie… is something wrong? You seem so down and I don't know why. Y'know if anything's bothering you, you can talk to me about it…"

The Briton took in a deep breath, steadying his voice, though Alfred's words have struck something within him. More memories of rain mixed with tears and the chill of a distant gaze on his face…. "N-nothing… I don't know… I'm sorry I'm stuck in the past sometimes…" _He'll leave one day because of it… because he's young and virile and has so much more in store for him, and I can't keep up…._ _He left before, what's to stop him now?_ Arthur finished to himself as he bit his lip and screamed at his mind to stop because that part of his mind was wrong. The Briton made no noise, but only continued to bury his face further into Alfred's shoulder.

"Artie… something's obviously up. It's more than just some old memories. C'mon… you can tell me, you can tell me anything. What kind of engaged couple would we be if we didn't confide in each other?" Alfred replied, absent mindedly rubbing soothing circles on Arthur's back.

"I… I…" Arthur hesitates. He knows he can't hide anything from Alfred, but he didn't know how to go about forming his thoughts into the proper words. He doesn't know how to say it not after Alfred has assured him that their love wouldn't end. With the walls closing in quickly Arthur takes the only escape he can and just blurts everything out between choked and broken sobs. He knows that if he doesn't say it now he never will and only then will those words slowly eat away at him until there is nothing left.

"I'm… I'm terrified…" Arthur cried. "Terrified of the day when you… when you want to be free again. When you realize that my time had passed. And… and you'll leave… not because you're cruel or hate me, but because I can't keep up and you need to be able to run forward…" Arthur takes in a deep shuddering breath as he wills himself to calm down. The guilt takes ahold as he is more than ashamed for having these feelings.

Alfred looked down at his lover with eyes spread wide and brows furrowed with distain. What was Arthur talking about? Alfred would never leave him never and-! Alfred knew what this was about. No matter how many times he tried to circle around it somehow the couple always seemed to wander back to the same day that their ties had been severed and left tattered and torn for several decades. "Arthur is this… is this about the revolution? Look I said I was sorry and I know what I did was cruel and hurtful, but I had to and-!" Arthur cut him off.

"This isn't about the past Alfred; it's about the future…. One of us is going to have to more forward and… and it won't be me, I can tell you. My time was back with the empire and now that that's gone I'm… I'm pretty much done Alfred and… you aren't… and I know you'll leave because of it…"

"That's crazy Arthur! I'd never leave you; I love you, more than anything! Arthur I'd give up everything I have- everything I am- if it meant that we could stay together! I'd give it all up…"

"I just can't bring myself to hold you back anymore or make you give anything up for me…. I know you love me, truly I do, but it's not like you to be tied down to anything…. You're meant to be free Alfred… not stuck with some crazy old fool who's just lost in his memories…" Arthur sobbed. That was all he was, nothing but a crazy old man who couldn't give up the fact that his days in the sun had faded away to darkness. He was nothing more….

Alfred stared down at his lover with eyes glistening. He smiled sadly, "Aw c'mon Artie… you're breaking my heart…." He laughed humorlessly in a pathetic attempt to bring them back to happiness, but it was of no use now. "Arthur… I love you. I love you more than anything… more than hamburgers, or airplanes, or video games or any of those things put together! Arthur I love you so much it hurts sometime and… and… hearing you say all these things it..." He trailed off as his voice became strained and he was beginning to lose his self restraint. The American slowly wrapped his arms around his fiancé and pulled him into a tight embrace. "Please don't think that just… _please…_" Alfred didn't mean to make himself sound so desperate, but he couldn't help it. He was. A few stray tears rolled down Alfred's cheeks as he struggled to himself composed for the sake of his partner.

Arthur's sobs died down into small whimpers as he felt Alfred's much larger frame trembling against his. What… what was he doing…? Look at what he had done because he couldn't control his emotions. He had made Alfred, the man he loved, cry. "I'm sorry Alfred… I don't know, I just… I can't help, but feel… afraid sometimes. You've been so wonderful to me and I'm so very happy with you, but… but I just get worried. I've lived long enough to know that all good things come to an end…. I'm sorry, Alfred. Please don't cry, love…. I just… I just get so caught up in worry sometimes…"

"But there's nothing to worry about Artie…"

"I understand but… it's like your fear of ghosts. Irrational, but still there no matter how hard someone tries to convince you it's not…" Arthur arms unconsciously snaked around Alfred's back, latching onto the material of his shirt and holding fast and tight. He buries his head in Alfred's chest and whispers, feeling ashamed and childish, "Do… do you promise that you'll be with me as long as possible? It sounds silly I'm sure, but…" He trailed off slightly.

Alfred pulled away from Arthur a little so he could look into his brilliant green eyes, "Of course I do Arthur." Alfred reached around and took his fiancé's left hand, holding his fingers delicately to look at the ring that sat on his second to last finger. "Arthur, I didn't ask you to marry me for no good reason. I asked you to marry me because I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. When I say I want to spend the rest of my life with you I mean it sincerely. I'm never going to give you up Arthur; nothing could ever make me leave you." He explained softly. "Every time you look at this ring I want you to remember that I've made a promise to you. That I've made a promise that we're going to be bonded together for the rest of time. Use it to help you calm down and chase away those stupid fears… okay?"

Arthur closed his eyes and smiled through the still present tears. He brought his hand up with Alfred's along with it and gently placed a feather light kiss on the shimmering diamonds of the ring. "Thank you Alfred… you really have no idea how much that means to me…. You're all that I have Alfred, but… I'm so glad I have you."

**Woo! Finally finished! Took bloody long enough…. The idea for this theme is actually based off an RP I had with my fellow USUK devotee. So… yeah that's really it. Reviews and comments are greatly appreciated. **


	4. Theme 013 Misfortune

When Arthur heard the news he found that the world around him had stolen him of all his breath. His heart fluttered helplessly in his chest like a bird with a broken wing. He swallowed thickly- it felt as if his throat was slowly closing- and his voice came out trembling and desperate, desperate that the news may have somehow been false. "What… what do you mean… dead?" The word tasted bitter and musty as it left his lips.

"It happened last night in front of his New York City apartment. He was shot twice in the back right before his wife's eyes." The room was spinning, his legs were swaying. Was this really happening? It couldn't be. This all had to be some kind of sick twisted dream. Maybe he had eaten one too many chocolate biscuits before bed. Yes that was it because men that peaceful couldn't leave this world in such a violent manner. "The New York police have identified the man as Mark David Chapman, an American man hailing from Texas…" Everything after that was nothing but muffled noise in Arthur's ears. He couldn't bear to hear anymore lest his heart break further. Still one word echoed in his ears like the whispering hiss of Satan the snake to Eve in the Garden of Eden.

_American… American… American…_.

It was an American man that had killed John Lennon on the eve of December 8, 1980 and it was a day Arthur would never forget and wouldn't forgive at least not for a long time.

Arthur laid back on his couch as soon as he returned home and just stared at the ceiling as he absent mindedly mouthed the words to the Beatles album he had humming in the background. He had been an avid fan of the Beatles ever since the boys with the suits and bowl cuts had made their first debut from Liverpool. He had followed their music, concerts, and fads religiously and bolted himself up in his room like every other fan when the band broke apart in April of 1970.

He had known John personally as well. He was a marvelous man with a good sense of humor and a heart of gold wanting nothing more than to give peace a chance. Arthur was sure that John wouldn't have the heart to even harm a fly. He was such a wonderful man who gave birth to theory that all you needed in life was love.

Now all of his preaching through music had been wasted when the bullets entered him and brought him to his untimely demise. He was only 40 years of age.

The dull ring of Arthur's telephone pulled him out of the foggy state he had been roaming around in all afternoon. His tried green eyes wandered from the ceiling to the door way of the living room where he could see down the hall and into the kitchen where the phone's cries echoed from. "Come on old boy…" Arthur urged himself as he slowly hauled his lazy arse off the couch and shuffled down the hall in his black socks. His joints seemed to creak and protest as he reached out for the phone and picked it up off the receiver with the same speed as frozen molasses. "… 'Ello…?"

There was no voice for a few moments, just the sounds of a few sniffles as whoever it was on the other end tried to compose themselves. "… Artie…" Arthur knew that voice. There was only one obnoxious fellow in the world that would maul his name like that and call him 'Artie.''

"…Alfred…" Arthur voice sounded sharp in his ears and the word tasted bitter in his mouth.

Alfred hesitated again. Arthur could hear him fiddling with his glasses through the receiver. "I uh… well I… I-I guess you heard what happened…?" He questioned nervously.

"Of course… it's all over the news…" His voice was hollow, completely emotionless, but that only made Alfred feel even more uncomfortable as he listened.

"O-Oh… right… it's a real shame… he was a nice guy…" Alfred replied.

"Yes he was… it was a terrible thing for someone to do…" It was an American. An American man killed John Lennon and here Arthur was talking to America on the phone.

"Yeah it was…" Alfred bit his lower lip. "Look Artie, I'm real sorry about what happened… I really had no idea what was going on, but I… I know it was one of my people and-!" Arthur cut him off short.

"Shut up."

"… A-Artie I…"

"I said shut up." Arthur voice was stern and menacing, slightly off centered teeth gnashing together in his jaw. "You better bloody well listen and you better listen well. I refuse to talk to you. You are not to call me again. Don't approach me. Don't look at me. Don't even breathe my air." Arthur's voice didn't increase in volume, but more and more anger gathered in the undertones like the feeling before a deadly storm. "John Lennon was an innocent man who only believed in love and peace and yet now here he is stone cold and dead. Peaceful men don't deserve to die violently." Arthur slammed the phone down on the receiver without another word and then returned to his couch where he continued to sulk and mouth the words to every Beatles song he knew.

_All you need is love… love is all you need…._

**30 years ago today John Lennon was shot and killed in New York. RIP to one of the greatest song writers and men of all time. /3**


	5. Theme 010 Breathe Again

Snow… it was so pretty. It gently drifted down from the sky like little tufts of cotton blanketing the earth in its icy glory. Rain was so depressing, but just freeze it and suddenly you had a beautiful wonder. Not mention each snow flake was so beautifully unique. No two tufts the same.

"Alfred!" A sharp voice called his name. A firm hand grasping his shoulder and jerking him so that his step faltered and as he stumbled to regain his balance he was forced to move to the side. As this happened a passerby just barely brushed past Alfred's shoulder and the person muttered a bitter 'Excuse me' as they walked past.

"Oh, sorry 'bout that!" Alfred called apologetically over his shoulder at the ticked off person. Alfred had been so positively absorbed in his observation of the falling snow that he hadn't even noticed that he was nearly causing a head on collision with the other person on the sidewalk.

"Git," The sharp voice insulted, but in a loving kind of way. Alfred turned his sky blue eyes to his side where a pair of brilliant green met his own. Arthur scowled at him, a signature look that looked oh so good on him. The way his brows furrowed, the small wrinkles in his forehead, the way his green eyes burned, and the way his cheeks slightly puffed out as if he was pouting. It made it difficult to take him seriously even when he was angry. "Would you care to join back down on earth? Honestly Alfred, you're so horribly oblivious."

Alfred grinned at his beloved boyfriend, grasping onto his hand and playfully swinging their arms back and forth. "Sorry Artie, the snow's just too pretty to resist."

Arthur cheeks blossomed a vivid shade of pink as Alfred swung their hands back and forth. "I… I swear…." He muttered under his breath, glancing off to the side. "I seriously worry about you sometimes. If I wasn't here to watch you I'd be afraid you'd get hit by a car."

"Don't worry Artie; I've lived long enough to know when to cross the street." Alfred laughed as the two continued to walk down the sidewalk, the snow gracefully falling around them. A comfortable silence settled around them as the continued walking, hands still firmly clasped together.

Arthur absentmindedly brought up his left hand, cat like eyes slightly lidded as he gazed down at the small silver studded band surrounding his ring finger. Without even thinking about it a soft smile curled around the corners of his thin, pink lips as he looked at the piece of jewelry with tenderness. Alfred glanced sideways at his boyfriend, no scratch that, fiancé and couldn't help, but feel a smile tug up on his lips as well. "So you like it?" Alfred inquired.

"Hmm," Arthur hummed as he dragged himself from his thoughts and looked over at Alfred. He smiled, "I do. It's positively lovely, pet." Arthur replied.

Two years. It had been two years since and Arthur had finally stopped dancing around each other and got together in the middle of the floor. It had been on that two year anniversary that Alfred had stopped them in the middle of the busy streets in front of Rockefeller center, got down on one knee, and pulled out the ring box before asking his darling Briton and long time care taker for his hand in holy matrimony. Arthur had cried like a baby as he latched onto Alfred and sobbed the same positive response over and over again. Yes… yes….

Alfred was about to say something to Arthur when a loud blaring of the Star Spangled Banner echoed out from within his pants pocket. The American fished within the jeans and retrieved the electronic device inspecting its screen to see if the call was worth answering. "Ah shit… I gotta take this. Give me just a second Artie." Alfred reluctantly let go of Arthur's hand and pressed the answer button on his phone.

"Hello…? Yeah…. No I can't, I'm out for the day…. Just leave the papers on my desk…. Relax, relax I'll get to it tomorrow…." Alfred carried out his conversation as they continued walking, the couple slowly approaching the crosswalk. "Did you settle the tax agreement yet…? Well I asked George to go over it…. Oh, he's sick, damn…. Then I'll just have to do it I guess…." The little man on the sign across the street turned white signaling it was safe for people to cross. "Well I won't be in until tomorrow, maybe Monday depends on how things play out." Alfred became lost in his own world as he spoke, crossing the street as his leisure as Arthur's paced remained steady and he walked slightly ahead. "Yeah…. Don't worry I'll get done."

"You better hurry, Alfred." Arthur warned, seeing the little man on the sign was staring to change colors.

"What was that Artie?" Just as Alfred called back to his fiancé someone walking the opposite direction bumped into his shoulder causing his cell phone to break free from his grasp and fall pitifully to the pavement. Alfred cursed to himself as he stopped, turning to retrieve his lost phone.

"Alfred? Alfred where did you…" Arthur turned from his place on the other side of the street seeing Alfred standing smack in the middle of the crosswalk inspecting his phone for damages. The Briton's heart leapt up in his throat and his stomach dropped when he saw what was coming. A car that seemed to have no intent of stopping. His legs felt as heavy as lead weights yet he forced himself to move, sprinting into the street. "Alfred, look out!" He shouted as he fiercely barreled into Alfred's side knocking the unsuspecting American out of the way.

Alfred stumbled over himself falling onto the sidewalk as Arthur remained in his place. After that time moved so quickly yet Alfred remembered every single detail. The way he The look on Arthur's face as he realized he couldn't get out of the way in time and braced himself for the impact of the blow. desperately cried out Arthur's name as doom approached. The way Alfred's stomach turned and lurched as the car struck his beloved and he was sent careening backwards into a mangled heap in the street.

The American sat there for a minute, eyes spread wide and his body completely numb. His breath came in short shaky gasps as his mind processed the vivid images just taken into his mind. He scrambled to get up, his limbs uncomfortably heavy as he seemed to run in slow motion towards Arthur's side. He fell to Arthur's side staring at his mangled body. The Briton was covered in cuts and his blood seeped into the now dirty cream pea coat that he had always been so fond of. His left leg and right arm were broken in painfully obvious way. More crimson blood seeped from his head and stained his beautiful gold blonde hair. His eyes were half lidded, open, yet completely lifeless and unseeing to the world around him.

Alfred felt the bile rise up in his throat as he gazed on Arthur. His eyes were wide and fresh tears were springing to the corners of the endless blue orbs. This… this couldn't… this couldn't be happening…. They were happy, they were laughing, enjoying themselves naught, but a few minutes ago and now Alfred was hovering over the muddled body of his beloved fiancé. "Arthur…" He whispered softly. "Arthur." His volume increased. "Arthur! Oh my god!" He screamed this time, full out bloody murder as he grasped onto his beloved's unbroken arm and held onto it as if his very life depended on it. "Arthur! Arthur! Wake up! Say something! Anything!" Tears were freely flowing down his cheeks. People gathered around them. "Call me an idiot! Call me a git, wanker, anything! Just-! Oh god Artie!"

The sound of an ambulance wailed its mournful cry in the distance as Alfred cried for his lover and onlookers looked on in somber silence.

**Wow… that was pretty damn dark even for me…. Umm yeah so I hope I didn't crush you're hearts too terribly, but I was actually thinking of linking this part of the theme challenge with a different theme from the list so don't despair! Reviews and comments are lovely as always. **

**PS: Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!**


	6. Theme 020 Foritude

**December 13****th****, 1777**

**Morristown, New Jersey**

**Washington's Encampment **

I never realized just how cold and harsh winter could be on the human body. Even if my body isn't entirely human I still feel the bitter, winter winds chilling my bones, whipping at my skin, and turning my nose and cheeks as red and the cloth on my uniform. The snow already is up nearly to my knees and winter's end isn't anywhere in sight.

General Washington offered to let me stay in his home where I would live in as much luxury that could be offered, but the guilt of watching my men freeze outside is too much for me to deal with. If I could I would let all of them live in the same luxury as the officers, I mean these men are sacrificing everything they are just so that one day this country could be independent, but unfortunately that wish is impossible. Money was tight enough as it was. General Washington had sent several messages to congress asking for provisions and supplies for the troops, but no one is listening. I've even tried asking for extra supplies, but they don't believe that the camp is in as much peril as we say it is.

Everyone, every camp, even civilians are in need during this long winter and after having nearly all of our ties for foreign trade cut off by England's ships. Money is hard to come by especially now when we can't even grow tobacco and crops to sell to other countries. Food is running low and some people are becoming desperate. No one has the proper clothes to stave off winter's chill. A handful of soldiers don't even have shoes. It's only a matter of time before the screams of men with frost bite set into their limbs start filling up the camp.

I'm more stressed as the days go on. Keeping that optimistic demeanor I always prided myself on is getting more and more difficult to keep up. I only hope that winter will be over before I lose my mind.

Alfred F. Jones

The United States of America

**December 16****th****, 1777**

**Princeton, New Jersey**

**British Encampment**

I have never been one to mind winter very much. I represent a country that usually experiences heavy rain and chilling winds on a regular basis so the cold has never been something that bothered me. It is difficult to experience the season in a home that is not my own and it is even more so difficult now that I am at war with America instead of braving the weather with him. Ingrate.

But still the winter has been harsh so far, but the troops are doing well for the time being. Provisions are in somewhat short supply, but it's not as if my trading routes have been blocked off unlike a certain ungrateful git. The men are clothed and all have shoes save for maybe one or two people, but with my letter to parliament it will only be a matter of time before a ship arrives with more relief.

I have heard that America's troops have it very rough this winter. There is only little or no food. The men don't have proper clothing for winter and even several do not have the simple object of shoes. It serves those bloody rebels right. America should have been smart enough to know that things like this would happen if he dared stand against me.

Hopefully by the time this winter is over I will have put that bastard back in his place. He has no right to stand against me, the British Empire, and expect to not feel the sharp, sting of defeat. It is only a matter of time before he is finished with his tantrum.

He is much too innocent and naïve to deal with the wiles of war and it won't be long until it breaks him entirely.

Arthur Kirkland

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland

**December 18****th****, 1777**

**Morristown, New Jersey**

**Washington's Encampment **

Everything is slowly declining. Slowly getting worse. It's like a ball of snow rolling down a steep, steep hill. The farther we fall the more problems gather and we're falling way too fast. During my routinely circle around the camp I can faintly hear a few men discussing the idea of abandonment. About leaving the rest of the soldiers to defend their freedom while they return to the- compared to this- cushy lives they used to lead.

Hearing these words makes me sick to my stomach, but it makes my blood boil at the same time. How dare them. Are they such cowards, such weaklings that they won't even see the journey they started to the end? Hearing these words makes my heart clench. I want freedom so badly. No, I don't want it, I need it. I need like I need to breathe air, like I need to eat food, like I need to sleep. Freedom is no longer some folly, it's a necessity.

An officer came into my cabin a moment ago; he said that four men have abandoned the army and disappeared into the blackness of surrounding woods.

We're falling so fast and there is nothing I can do to slow us down.

Alfred F. Jones

The United States of America

**December 20****th****, 1777**

**Princeton, New Jersey**

**British Encampment**

Winter is getting tougher on my men, more so then I expected it would. Moral is starting to drop among the men with Christmas naught, but a few meager days away. All of them long to be home in Britain along with their families, wives, and children. But we have a duty to fulfill and I am not going to let some god forsaken holiday get in the way of my victory.

They can try to celebrate if they wish, drink, eat, sing carols, I do not give a damn for any of that nonsense. The pleasantness of Christmas vanished for me long ago and now I shall spend it only with a bottle of premium rum and maybe a spot of wine.

Christmas be damned.

Arthur Kirkland

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

**December 25****th****, 1777**

**Morristown, New Jersey**

**Washington's Encampment**

Well, once again Christmas is here, but spirits are hardly up. Christmas is much too much of a British tradition and as such no one wants to bother with it. Not even a single carol can be heard among the men who huddle around the fires. Someone managed to get a hold of a bottle of whisky and we passed it around the fire, each taking a little swig as it came our way. Some men attempted to chat, but most people just sat with eyes blankly staring at the dancing flames of the fire. I wish I had more whisky. Getting massively drunk is something that sounds very appealing to me right now. Maybe it would drown all my problems away in its fermented liquid. I could feel warm again against this bitter wind that continues to pierce my flesh.

England is probably drowning his own worries with a bottle of rum. He always was a heavy drinker. Lucky bastard. He's probably living in the lap of luxury over at his camp. He never did like the dirt and grime of the outside world. It makes me sick. Here I am trying to make myself an equal to my men and he's towering above his own just like he towered above me for all those years. It's always haunting like an ever present shadow and I just can't shake it off.

I don't know how much more I can take.

Alfred F. Jones

The United States of America.

**December 26****th****, 1777**

**Princeton, New Jersey**

**British Encampment**

I am much too hung over to write anything half decent this evening. I feel as though my head might split open and I'm struggling to keep my dinner in my stomach.

Merry Christmas my Arse.

Arthur Kirkland

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

**January 3****rd****, 1778**

**Morristown, New Jersey**

**Washington's Encampment **

Every second I'm awake and conscious my stomach is gnawing with intense hunger. My stomach grumbles and growls for something I can't give it. The only relief I get is when I sleep, but even that doesn't last long for my hunger wakes me up again. Food is in extremely short supply even in the officer and general's cabins. I think that last time I ate was two days ago, but I can't remember. It feels like more. But then again when you're as hungry as that time always seems longer.

The men are becoming desperate. A saw a man take of his shoes and boil them down in the pot until they were soft and then he ate the leather as if it were jerky. My stomach turned. What was worse a few of them men even killed the regime's pet dog and ate it. I disappeared into the woods after seeing that and threw up. No matter how desperate I don't think I'd ever kill and eat a pet dog.

Even in the cold of winter more men are dying from the lack of food rather than the bitter winds and sickness. I saw the body of one of them men who starved to death. His cheeks were hollow and sunken in like craters. Every single last one of his ribs stuck out from under his sickly looking skin. He was as thin as a stick and if I wanted to I could've snapped him half as easily as if I was snapping a twig.

More men are dying and we are pleading with congress to send more provisions, but they think we're just speculating on the condition of them camp. Can't they just stop their stubbornness and listen! My men are dropping like flies and they're calling us liars when we say we have no food! A bunch of high class morons I call them.

We need relief and we need it soon or I'm afraid we won't live to spring once more.

Alfred F. Jones

The United States of America

**January 6****th,**** 1778**

**Princeton, New Jersey**

**British Encampment**

Well it's a New Year and the New Year is meant to bring hope and good cheer, right? Not here it does not. Despite most of the men having all the clothes they could need and even having shoes water from the snow has seeped into the cabins and walking in the chilling water has brought around frost bite to many men. Their feet are all blackened and oozing with blood filled blisters; their toes so stiff it seems as though they may break and shatter with the slightest touch.

The regime has doctors, but there is only so much they can do for a victim of frost bite. A few of the cases have become so severe that the doctors have preform amputations. I can think of no fate worse than facing an amputation. We have nothing to numb the pain besides alcohol. Wooden blocks are placed in the patient's mouths to keep them from biting through their tongues.

Even though the infirmary is a long ways away from where I reside I can still hear the screams of the men as the saw pierces their flesh. It sickens me. My stomach twists and turns and my blood curdles in my veins. I try to remain composed during it, but the past few times I haven't been able to bear it. I take cover in my bed pulling the sheets over my head and pressing my pillow to my ears. I bite my lower lip and resist the urge to make noise at the sound.

I can't stand it. I may not be so bold as to put myself as an equal to my men, I may not sleep in the cramped, damp cabins with them, I may not endure the cold and lack of food with them, but that does not mean I do not care for them. They are still my men, my people and my care for them runs deep. America always said I towered above my men instead of being on par with them and it's true I do put myself above them, but that doesn't make me think of them as nothing more than lowly rats.

They are fighting so that my country may prevail over this nonsense and for that I could never be more grateful.

Arthur Kirkland

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland

**January 13****th****, 1778**

**Morristown, New Jersey**

**Washington's Encampment**

At last, at last! Relief has been brought to our dreary winter camp! Sick of our constant nagging congress finally sent a representative to inspect our camp and see what we were fussing over so much. Once he saw the men and the condition of the camp he practically fell over his own feet in his haste to make it back to congress and tell them just how we had been telling the truth all along.

The men's spirits have returned and although winter still has a while to be over just knowing that rations are finally being brought has made them stand and cheer. Everyone is smiling and fantasizing about how wonderful it will be to have our bellies full again, to have shoes on their feet, and to have blankets on their cots.

I cannot express how grateful I am for these men. Despite the hardships and the trouble they have all stayed strong through the rough patches and now they shall be rewarded. The stayed so that freedom can prevail, so that we can finally break free from Britain's tyranny. I have confidence in these men. I have confidence in my country. I have complete and total confidence that we shall prevail and freedom shall ring from every hillside!

We shall prevail.

Alfred F. Jones

The United States of America

**I recently watched a documentary about winter in Morristown New Jersey during the revolution and I even went to visit there recently (I only live like 45 minutes away from Morristown) and I got to see Washington's Head Quarters and the actual cabins that the soldiers stayed in during the winter of 1777. It was neat (I love history 3)  
So I wanted to do revolutionary war diaries, but I wanted to include both sides so I alternated between Alfred's entries and Arthur entries just to mix it up a bit.  
I hope you like it! Thanks 3**


	7. Theme 021 Vacation

"_Home, home on the range where the deer and the antelope play! Where seldom is heard, a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day!_"

"Alfred F. Jones, I swear to god if you continue to sing that absolutely infuriating song I'm going to take the gear shift of his truck and shove it down your throat." Arthur snapped bitterly as he turned his acidic green gaze on the larger man sitting in the driver's seat next to him.

"Aw c'mon Artie you're ruining the atmosphere." Alfred whined, his blue eyes shifting behind the lenses of his glasses until they monetarily gazed over Arthur.

The Briton only released a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his unruly gold blonde hair. "Yes, but you've been singing that song for nearly a half an hour now and let me tell you something love, you might want to try some voice lessons." Arthur snapped dryly. He may not have minded half as much if Alfred had actually been _good_ at singing, but the American nation's voice was far from being decent enough to not make his ears bleed let alone actually being good.

"You're so mean Artie!" The American whined again like the inner five year old he was. "I invite you to go on this awesome trip with me to my ranch in Nebraska and all you can do is make fun of my singing voice?" He pouted, puffing his cheeks out with his lower lip slightly protruding from his mouth as he leaned over the steering wheel.

Indeed that was exactly what the duo was doing. The reason why Arthur had been called at one o'clock in the morning, forced on the next nonstop flight to America, and then shoved into the cab of an old beat up pickup truck upon his arrival was all because his fellow nation had _insisted_ upon his coming to join him at his ranch in the mid-west. Arthur was tried, _exhausted._ He had hardly slept at all on the plane (There was a crying baby in front of him, a rude little child kicking his seat behind him, and a teenager listening to some very loud screamo music next to him. Young people these days) and now with Alfred infuriating singing the action remained an impossibility. "Alfred, _please_. I'm _exhausted_. Can't you sing some other time, maybe when I'm not about to collapse from lack of sleep?"

Alfred frowned softly, "Oh stop bein' such a stick in the mud. At least pretend that y'er enjoin' yourself." And there went Alfred and his southern habit.

"Alfred… I swear to god if you utter one more word in that dreadful, unsophisticated southern accent I really will shove the gear shift down your throat." The Briton threatened and from the look on his face Alfred could tell that wasn't an empty threat.

"Er… sorry, it just happens…" He inched away ever so slightly, quite frankly wanting to keep his vocal cords intact, and suppressed the urge to switch his accents.

Arthur wasn't sure when it happened, but in the golden sound that was silence the Briton's exhaustion eventually caught up with him and he was pulled under into sleep. All he knew is that the way he woke up wasn't very pleasant. Alfred couldn't just gently shake his shoulder, or with a soft spoken word, or something like that, oh no. He of course had to slam down on his brakes so hard that Arthur jolted forward out of his state of sleep and nearly hit his head on the dash board. "Wakey, wakey Artie! Get off your lazy ass it's ranchin' time!"

Arthur groaned in protest, processing the bright world around him as he rose from the sleep induced haze. "Bloody hell! What the hell is your problem, you bastard! You could've given me a concussion or some-!" Arthur cut off his shouting when he looked up and over and found Alfred was already gone from the car. Why was it when it came to Arthur scolding the younger man the American always mysteriously vanished?

Now that he was awake Arthur looked outside the surrounding windows of the truck, taking in his new surroundings. This place was… in the middle of nowhere. It was lovely yes with rolling fields of luscious green grass that blended brilliantly with the pure blueness of the sky, but that was all Arthur saw. There was a good sized, one floor, ranch style house with beige siding and green shutters on each side of the windows. Behind the house and off to the right side was a barn with a similar outer décor, but it was large, almost larger than the house itself. White fences sprung up from the ground and disappeared in the distance meant to keep the inhabitants of the barn inside the boundaries.

The British nation glanced around as he hopped down from the cab of the pickup truck, frowning slightly at the amount of dirt that scuffed up on his nice shoes. "So what do you think?" Alfred asked as he appeared from around the back, Arthur's forest green suit case in his hands.

"It's nice I supposed, very scenic," Arthur admitted. "Though I wish there wasn't so much dirt." He frowned as he leaned against the car, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and attempting to clean his soiled shoes.

Alfred grinned broadly, "You better stiffen up and get used to it, there's a lot of that around here." He laughed as he began heading towards the house, a certain sure-fire swagger suddenly appearing in his strides. Must've been that southern influence.

The old screen door covering the front one squeaked and out came and older lady, a woman maybe around her mid fifties. She was a bit on the hefty side dressed in a long brown skirt, a cream button down blouse rolled to the elbow, and an apron around her plump waist. Her brown, slowly turning grey, hair was pulled back into a messy bun. "Alfred F. Jones what took you so gosh darn long to get y'er keester back here?" She complained, wiping her hands on a dish cloth.

"Sorry May, Artie's flight was delayed so I had to wait longer to pick him up." Alfred explained, giving an apologetic smile as he approached the woman.

"I was startin' to worry that you weren't comin' back. Good to see you finally got here. Now where's this Arthur fella, I wanna meet 'im." She looked around a bit, but stopped as her eyes spotted Artie trying to clean his shoes. She looked at him incredulously for a moment, "You sure you picked up the right guy? Seems a bit stuff if ya ask me…" She whispered leaning towards Alfred.

"C'mon May leave him alone. You know what those British people are like, all proper and stuff. Don't worry I'll have him roughed up by the time this week is over." He whispered back.

Arthur frowned slightly at the hushed whispers between the two in front of him. Curious as to what they were secretly discussing Arthur gave up on his poor shoes and instead strode over to Alfred and the woman. "Hey Artie, there's someone I want you to meet." Alfred said as he gestured to the woman with a quick jerk of his head.

"I'm Mable, but you can just call me May. I'm the house keeper of the ranch." She said as he held out a hand for Arthur to shake.

The Briton turned on that English charm; first impressions were always the most important. "Ms. May, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm Arthur Kirkland, Alfred's friend."

She giggled softly, "Oh well ain't you a fancy charmer. Well don't ya'll just stand out here in this awful heat, come on in and met the boys." Boys? Who was she talking about? Alfred had informed Arthur about May, but he failed to mention any others who lived here.

Arthur nodded gratefully (Hot Nebraska weather and a sweater vest wasn't the best combination) and followed Alfred and May into the house. As he crossed the threshold of the door Arthur was pleasantly greeted by a blast of cool from an air conditioner set to full power. The chilled air felt good on his feverish skin. The inside of the house was quaintly decorated and Arthur had to admit it had a rather nice homey feel to it, but the décor was by no means something he'd put in his own home.

On the blue plaid printed couch was a man, a tall, thin man no older than twenty seven. His hair was shaggy and as black as the night time sky. He was dressed in tight fitting black jeans and a white t-shirt with a leather vest draped over his shoulders. A handkerchief was wrapped around his neck while a black Stetson sat on the coffee table in which his feet were kicked up on. "God gosh boy, I told you to stop puttin' those dirty boots of y'er up on the table." May scolded the man as she shut the door behind Alfred and Arthur.

"Sorry Mama…" He muttered as he removed his dirty boots from the table as told. He then got up from the couch, grabbing his Stetson from the table and placing it on his head, adjusting the rim so it created a veil of shadow over his eyes.

"Where do you think y'er goin'? Alfred's friend is finally here." May asked as she eyed the man attempting to leave the room with a small frown tugging down on her lips.

The man stopped as he got near the door, glancing over Arthur once with his grey-blue eyes, disapproving in his cold colored eyes. "Um… it's nice to meet you." Arthur offered his hand for the man to shake though from the looks of it Arthur could tell that this was someone he was definitely not meant to get along with. But as a proper English gentleman manner came first no matter how much you disliked someone (with the exception of France and on occasion Alfred).

The man glanced at Arthur's extended hand, but pointedly ignored the gesture and headed for the door once again. "He's not gonna last long. I give him a day, two tops." And with that rather rude statement the mysterious black haired man exited the stage and was gone to somewhere on the property.

Silence was all that was left in the quaint and cozy living room, but May's silent shame and embarrassment rang clear. "I uh… I'm real sorry 'bout him. Bo is just the anti-social type." So Bo was the name of the mysterious, jerky cowboy. Lovely.

"It's quite alright." Bloody tosser. Arthur was old enough to be that boy great, great, great… he wasn't quite sure how many greats, grandfather. How dare the young man. He better think twice before insulting the former British Empire the little bast-! Arthur's thoughts were abruptly cut off.

"Alfred! What the hell took you so long! I've been waitin' and everythin' to meet this friend of y'ers!" Another man appeared from down the hall though Arthur heard the heavy clunk of his boots before he saw him. This man appeared to be the same age as Bo, but also appeared to be his opposite in both looks and personality. His hair was a bright pale blonde while his eyes were as dark as melted chocolate. He was dressed in washed out jeans with a belt buckle that must have been the size of Texas. He wore a red flannel shirt on his top half with the first few buttons undone to reveal a white tank top underneath. Stetsons seemed to be popular in the house since he too had one sitting atop his pale locks, but only in a light shade of brown.

"Oh quit y'er hollerin' already. I swear the rest of us'll be deaf with the way you shout all the time." May said as she retreated back into the kitchen that was just the next room over.

"Ah, Mama I can't help it if I'm naturally loud. I just am." This man… he eerily resembled Alfred and his own attitudes and quirks. An entire week… with two Alfred's… Arthur was already in hell.

"Artie this is Jason, he's Bo's brother." Alfred took the liberty of introducing the two men since it looked like May was finished with everyone.

"Oh, it's nice to meet you Jason. My name is Arthur." Arthur extended his hand for Jason to shake and instead of a cold reaction like last time this one was overly friendly.

Jason took hold of Arthur's hand, a grip so firm Arthur was afraid for the safety of his delicate fingers, and shook him like a rag doll. "It's so awesome to meet you man! Alfred's been tellin' us all 'bout you. He's been super, super excited since ya'll agreed to fly over here. He hasn't stopped talking about it." He laughed heartily.

Excited? Alfred's been excited? Well that was pretty normal since the boy got hyped up over just about anything. But the fact that Alfred hadn't shut up about it to someone who wasn't Arthur made a soft blush rise to the Briton's fair cheeks. "I uh… well I…" He stammered nervously.

"Alright, alright Jason, cool your jets. Go take care of the horses or something productive." Alfred said, annoyance lining his voice, as he pulled his hand down on Jason's head messing up his hat. Jason muttered something teasingly with a smirk curled on his lips before he took off disappeared out the door and back into the daytime heat.

It was quite again, uncomfortably silent, for a few moments before Alfred broke the tension. "Well uh… come on Artie, let's go get you settled in and stuff." He said as he grabbed Arthur's suit case and began to head for the hallway, boots clunking against the hard wood floor. Arthur followed Alfred down the hallway, glancing around as he did so. On the walls were countless pictures of the houses other inhabitants at rodeos and horse competitions, each one with a ribbon, a medal, or a trophy on a shelf next to it. These people must've really been serious about their horsemanship. Several of these pictures even included Alfred and appeared as if a lot of the prizes belonged to him. The American had always bragged about being a professional in the field since he had spent his days after the revolution expanding to the west on the backs of these majestic creatures. Maybe that claim wasn't all talk as Arthur originally thought it to be.

Alfred lead Arthur to the last room in the hall that the Briton assumed to be his quarters for the week, but when he walked in the décor appeared to be something of Alfred's tastes (Judging by the several posters strewn on the walls, and the cowboy print comforter on the bed). Arthur was confused at first, but Alfred soon explained himself, "We're gonna have to share the room for the week, the house is pretty big, but it's mostly used up on bigger rooms so there's only three of them."

"O-oh…" A soft blush rose to Arthur cheeks. He'd be sharing a room with Alfred. For an entire week. He'd be with him all the time, both day and night. "That's fine… I suppose it can't be helped…"

Alfred smiled softly as he put Arthur's suit case down by the bed. "You can sleep in the bed, I'll take the futon." Alfred offered kindly. The bed was big enough for both of them to sleep in… not that Arthur wanted to share a bed with Alfred! They hadn't done that since the 1600's….

"You don't have to do that. I'm perfectly capable of sleeping on the futon." Arthur says, but Alfred appears to not be paying attention to Arthur. The American flipped on the small television set sitting on the dresser. The screen is a bit fuzzy at first before it shifted and a picture came up on the screen. It was of the inside of a stall, one Arthur assumed was in the barn around the back. Inside the stall was the figure of a horse happily munching on whatever was in the feed bucket. Alfred's eyes examined the screen closely before he smiled softly and flipped the screen off again. "What was that?" Arthur asked curiously as he approached Alfred.

Alfred smiled, "Change into a good pair of clothes you can get dirty and I'll show you."

Arthur was never a big fan of jeans, khakis or dress pants suited his tastes more so, but he didn't want to ruin anything nice he had brought. He must have put on a little weight since the last time he wore these since they were snugger around his waist than the Briton remembered. He mentally noted he would have to lay off the chocolate biscuits. Alfred teased him, claiming that he had no idea the usually fancily dressed Briton even owned a pair of jeans. Arthur only smacked him upside the hill.

The British nation was now following his former charge out to the barn, a Stetson now also atop the American's head. The heat had lessened if only by a few degrees, but Arthur was grateful for even that. Luckily the inside of the barn was nice and shaded from the sun's harmful rays. The inside of the barn was large and open, each side of the building lined with stalls and a room or two for feed and other supplies. Each stall had a name plate next to it explaining which horse lived in which stall. A few of the stalls still had their residence in it and they curiously stuck their heads out to find out what was going on. "Alright so we've got Sunshine, Gunner, Doc, Amber, George, Lola, Blue, Randy, Hades…" Alfred shot out all the names pointing to the appointed stalls with the correct name plates. "And then we have my special baby, Persephone." He pointed to the last stall where a dappled, grey mare stuck her head out, happily munching on a mouthful of hay. Her eyes were endless and dark while her mane was beautifully white like snow.

Alfred lead Arthur over to Persephone's stall and the grey mare reacted lovingly as Alfred gave her a pet and a kiss at the top of her dark muzzle. "She's quite lovely Alfred, wonderful color and glossy coat." Arthur commented. He may not have been a cowboy, but Arthur definitely knew his way around horses seeing as how they were the main source of transportation for most of his long life.

"I know right? She's my special girl." Alfred grinned broadly at Arthur's praise. The American reached over, unlocking the stall and letting the door swing open. "What's even better is soon there'll be a little Persephone junior." Sure enough when the opaque object that was the door was removed Arthur could see that the mare's sides were swollen with an unborn foal.

"How nice," Arthur said as followed Alfred into the stall, gently stroking the mare's neck."When is she due?" He inquired.

"In a few days and that's why I have this." Alfred pointed up to the corner of the stall where a small camera sat propped up on a wooden shelf pointed so that most of the stall was in view. "It's connected to the TV in my room that way I can keep my eye on her and when the foal comes I can be with her." Alfred said as he walked over to Persephone, giving her swollen flank an affectionate stroke. Alfred seemed really happy. Although Alfred loved his fancy cars just as much as any other man, the American always had a special place in his heart for his first friends the horses.

Arthur laughed the softly, "You make it seem like it's your baby." He teased.

"Of course it is, can't you see that Persephone and I are obviously in love?" The younger nation played along with the joke hugging Persephone's side. "Isn't that right sweetie?" The mare didn't seem interested for she merely shook Alfred off and stuck her head in her food bucket and crunched away on some of the molasses covered oats inside. Arthur smirked at Alfred, one thick brow raised. "… She still loves me, but just nowadays her eating is more important than me."

"Of course, I can obviously see you two are still head over heels for each other." Arthur sighs in exasperation of Alfred's insufferable attitude.

Alfred sighs with a small smile gracing his lips, "Alright then Sephy, you be a good girl and don't go causing trouble." Alfred grinned broadly as he affectionately stroked the mare's dappled neck and gave her a kiss on the little diamond shaped mark on her head. The horse whinnied softly, nibbling a little on Alfred's shirt in affection.

The duo then left Persephone to her peace and her food, gently closing the stall door shut behind them. Alfred showed Arthur the other inhabitants of the barn, saying that he owned the horses Sunshine, a bright and cheery palomino mare, George, a rather serious chestnut brown gelding, and Hades, a midnight black stallion with some attitude problems who was also the father of Persephone's foal. He explained that Hades was his main rodeo horse even though he had competed with the other two as well.

"I'm surprised that you've named some of your horses after gods and goddesses of Greek mythology." Arthur commented as they left the stables once all the horses had been introduced.

"Well I first got Hades when he was a foal and I didn't want to give him a name like Blackie, or Ebony or something lame like that so I was like 'I should give him a bad ass name' and Hades seemed to fit him." Alfred said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his washed out jeans.

"And why Persephone? It seems like that word is too complicated for your vocabulary." Arthur teased the younger nation.

Alfred playfully shoved his shoulder, "Oh shut up. If you must know why I named her Persephone it's because what's the king of the underworld if he doesn't have his queen? I bought Persephone so that I could breed her with Hades one day so I thought it fit well enough."

"… You are aware that Persephone hated Hades, right? She was forced to become his wife, she by no means did it willingly."

Alfred frowned softly, puffing his tanned cheeks out into pout, "You just had to ruin the romance of it didn't you?"

"I'm only telling you a fact, no need to pout." Arthur huffed, folding his arms over his chest.

"Well I'll have you know that Persephone was indeed the goddess of the underworld, but before she was married to Hades she was supposed to symbolize spring and the re-growth of the world and plant life after winter. So it the name has its good side too." Alfred rebutted. Alfred looked to the sky, "I like the spring time. It's so invigorating because even after the savage and brutal winter the world can still pick itself up and grow again. It makes hopeful that no matter what life throws at me, no matter how many times I get knocked down, I can always pick myself up and grow again."  
There was something alluring about Alfred's words and the way his bright blue eyes glittered under the shadow of his Stetson. Then young nation never seemed like the most intelligent being on earth, most definitely not, but he had a certain sensitivity. His thoughts were deep, but not always plentiful. But there was always room for Alfred to prove Arthur wrong. "Yes well… I suppose that something all of us should think about when times get rough."

"Enough of all this deep jibber-jabber, you're gonna need to get a lot of rest tonight, since we've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow." Alfred grinned broadly. "Tomorrow I'm converting you from being a frumpy old gentleman to being a real cowboy."

**Okay so originally this was going to be one huge one shot based under theme number 22- Mother Nature from the 100 theme challenge, but after the one shot got to 8 pages and I was nowhere near completion I decided to break it up into two parts. This is the first part just to give you a taste of what is to come with the continuation.  
Comments are always loved **


	8. Theme 008 Innocence

"Hey, Engwand?" The little chubby cheeked boy asked curiously; his brilliant blue eyes shining with their ever present gleams of excitement.

England looked down at the little boy and flowing white gown, the red ribbon tied around his neck with the utmost care, and smile softly. "Yes my dear lad, what is it?" He inquired, giving the little boy's tousled locks of dark blonde hair a small pat.

"What's my name?" He asked, cocking his head to the side in the most adorable way almost as if he were a puppy for sale in the shop.

England smiled once more, "Silly, you know your name. You're America."

America puffed his rosy red cheeks out and pursed his tiny, plump lips out, shaking his sweet rounded head back and forth. "No, I don't mean that one." He proclaimed hugging the stuffed bunny in his arms with his chubby hands with the little sausage fingers.

England was confused. What other name did the boy mean other than his country name? It was all England ever called him by and he was positive by now that the littlun had grown used to it enough so that he accepted as his name. "Whatever do you mean, pet? How can you have more than one name?" Arthur asked, kneeling down to be more at the child's level.

"I mean like the name the nice town people call you. They don't call you Engwand like I do!" He proclaimed again, blue eyes shining with determination to find out just whatever it was he was trying to find out.

England blinked his blonde lashes over his green eyes as he gave it a moment of thought, "Oh, do you mean Arthur?" He asked, mouth forming a small 'O' as he finally understood what exactly it was American meant when he meant the other name. Alfred nodded his head eagerly; ever present cowlick bobbing up and down as he did so. "Well then, Arthur is my human name. It's what the common people call since they don't know I'm really a country."

America's tiny mouth formed an 'o' and matched with a long sigh of the letter, "Then what's my human name?" He asked again, looking up at England with those glorious eyes expectantly. In all honesty England had only ever seen America as America and no one, but America. He hadn't given the boy's human name much thought since he wasn't sure if giving him the name was really his to give.

"Well uh… I'm not sure. I picked out my own name so I… I guess you can pick your name too if you want." England had begun calling himself Arthur after his glorious and most favorite king. England guessed if he had picked his own name then there was no reason that America couldn't chose his own name if he wanted to.

America's eyes lit up like the sun I the sky and a big grin spread across his chubby face, "I can?" He asked excitedly, practically bouncing with joy at the authority he had been given. "I'm gonna pick the best name ever, Engwand!"

England merely smiled softly at the darling boy and laughed as he pet his head. "I'm sure it will be a wonderful name, pet." He assured the young nation.

America smiled at the pet, but soon puffed his rosy cheeks out in thought as he tried to conjure up the best name he could think of. "Engwand? What are some good names?" He asked hic guardian curiously and the older couldn't help, but laugh a little.

"Well there are plenty of names to pick from." England explained, picking America up from under his arms; the soft material of his white gown feeling soft on the British nation's arms. "Let's sit down and try to pick one for you." He suggested as he headed to the loveseat and gingerly sat himself down with American safely nestled in his lap. "Now let's see…." He mused. "Some popular names were I live are John… George… Thomas…" He rattled off a few that came to mind.

America puffed his little cheeks out further, his blue eyes intently looking at the floor in thought as he contemplated the names. Soon he shook his head furiously in disapproval, "I don't like any of them…"

England hummed in thought, "Hmm… how about… Charlie? Or Oliver? Alexander is a rather nice name too." The Briton suggested, but America merely shook his head again. England pressed his thin lips together, "Well, don't fret, love, I'm sure you'll hear a name you like soon enough."

England proceeded to rattle off nearly every name he could think of, but America merely continued to shake his head in displeasure at the names. It seemed there was almost no name that caught the young boy's fancy. The evening began to fall and even after suggesting names all throughout dinner there still wasn't a single one America liked. He even began to cry once when he thought that there was no name in the world that could be his. England held him and shushed him gently; assuring him that there was a name he would like eventually.

It was bed time now and the space of America's room was gently light by the warm glow of a candle as England set him down among the sheets and fluffy pillows. America burrowed himself in the quilt and brought it up to his chin, eyes still puffy from his distraught crying over the whole predicament. England sighed softly through his nose, "Cheer up, pet, I promise we'll find you a wonderful name. Just be patient." England assured, gently running his hand against America's wheat blonde hair. The boy only hummed softly in agreement, but didn't seem convinced. "Would you like to hear a story? That should help cheer you up, right?" Admittedly America did perk up a bit at the mention of Arthur's famous stories of kings and knights fighting for glory and honor and justice. America cuddled up to England and looked up at him with curious blue eyes as he intently listened to the story of the Briton's past kings.

So England began his story. "… And he was a wonderful leader. Strong and righteous with the heart of a lion and then-!"

"I got it!" He was cut off with a start as America shot up from bed and looked up at him with sparkling eyes. "That's gonna be my name." He proclaimed excitedly as he jumped up and down on the fluffy down mattress, completely unable to withhold his joy.

"R-really? Love, please stop jumping, you'll hurt yourself." England chided as he took America's arm gently and willed him to calm down. "Now… what name are you talking about?"

"That one!" Vague answer.

"I-I'm sorry, but… which one exactly?"

"The one!" America seemed annoyed that England didn't get what name he was talking about. "The king that fought off all the evil Vikings!"

England fought about it. "… Do you mean Alfred?"

America grinned broadly and nodded his head vigorously, "That's the best name ever! I'm gonna be big and strong like King Alfred and I'm gonna protect you and everyone in the village!" The little boy claimed proudly, sky colored eyes alight and determined. "I'm gonna be a hero!"

England processed before his face broke out with a soft smile at, the newly named, Alfred's enthusiasm. "I'm sure you will be. You're my little hero, Alfred." England praised using America's new name. It almost looked as if the littlun was going to burst with his pride as he bounced in his seat saying his new name over and over again in various ways and in various tones.

"Alfred! Alfred! Alfred! Alfred!" He proclaimed proudly.

England merely smiled and humored the small boy by also saying his name, "Alfred. Alfred, Alfred. Alfred." And together they celebrated with the pride gleaming on both their faces.


End file.
